


I'll pay for you to stay

by nyaladin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), Changing Tenses, Gay Keith (Voltron), Inspired by a Movie, Keith and Lance are best friends and roomies, M/M, Present Tense, Pretty Woman References, Prostitution, References to Drugs, Shiro is rich, Swearing, there's a lot of Lance in ch1 sorry lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyaladin/pseuds/nyaladin
Summary: Pretty Woman AU





	I'll pay for you to stay

**Author's Note:**

> for @ravenssama and for myself  
> I'm not a native English speaker, so if you notice any mistakes or the phrasing feels wrong /please/ let me know.  
> ~~enjoy

     Keith rolled in his bedding, still sleepy from the nap he had taken. He yawned and got up. He lived in a messy cramped flat with his friend Lance, who, as it turned out, was nowhere in sight. _Huh, guess it really is late if the tomcat’s already gone._

     He stretched quickly and began to suit up for the night with Iggy Pop’s _‘Real Wild One’_ playing in the background. He put on low-cut shorts to expose the V bone, black cropped top and white thigh-high boots. He applied red lipstick, mascara thick on his lashes and eyeliner to accent his eyes. The boy finished the look with _maybe_ cheap-looking, long, blond wig. Didn’t care to look in the mirror again, he grabbed a red jacket off the hook and as he was walking downstairs he heard his landlord demand money from one of the residents.

_Oh shit shit fuck fuck fuck retreat retreat_ , rang in Keith’s head. He climbed back upstairs to the place and with shaky hands, he hollowed a stash of their shared money. He scanned the amount to quickly realize it wasn’t enough _. That moron_ , and he counted once more to be sure, but the result stayed unchanged, _fuck not **again**_. Keith stowed the money in his boot and climbed the window to do what he does best in situations like this - escape.

     The air felt heavy, hot, even after the sun being long gone. An older lady was smoking a cigarette on a narrow balcony and watching him suspiciously creep under the fence. Nothing extraordinary considering it’s been happening for a few months now.

     And there he was, on the streets of West Hollywood; fast cars, and wannabe stars passing him on the way to…

     Keith sees an ambulance. Police lights flashing. Curious people gather. As if he was invisible, Keith makes his way to the front. A couple of tourists are taking photos. A police officer is asking questions. A quiet voice in his mind, somehow both calm and very rushed, continues the old mantra of _escape, retreat, you didn't see anything, you weren’t here_.

      The boy runs in high heels to the Galra. The club is hazy, stinks of fresh paint, sweat and alcohol. Music’s blasting from the speakers. Bodies are moving around him in dance-like ritual. _Now where the fuck is that sore loser?,_ he questions, while his eyes are hunting through the room.

     "Hey", Keith leans forward to the old barman behind the counter, "has Lance been in here?"

    "Upstairs in the pool room ", the man replies without taking his eyes off a toxic-looking drink he’s making.

_The pool room, of fucking course._

     Keith storms in. A slim young man with glowing brown skin is surrounded by various people. He seems to be having fun, joking and playing with blue sunglasses oh his nose.

     "Yo, Keithy!" he smiles widely, waving to him. _This fucking prick._

     "Is it all gone?"

     Lance ignores the anger in friend’s eyes. "Rolo, you know my roommate, Keith, this is ---"

     "I know everybody in this goddamned room, Lance!" _Calm down. Calm. Down_. "Is it all gone?"

     Lance gets out of the pool, puts a towel on his shoulders and while he’s trying to fit into the pants he explains in an excited voice:

     "Rolo sold me some great, real top high-quality shit. We just had this party, man, it was... Ah! I was the host and---"

     "I can’t believe you bought drugs with our rent!",  Keith felt something boiling inside him. He grabbed his friend by the collar of an open jeans jacket he’s just put on. "What is going on with you dude?!"

     "I... I needed a little pick-me-up."

     "Oh, well, we need rent money!"

     Before he could smash Lance’s nose, Rolo, wearing some ugly-ass hat, stood between them.

     "Whoa. Calm down, he only owns me 200 dollars." He says _as if two hundred dollars were nothing._

"Rolo!" Lance cries, but it’s too late.

     " **HE  W H A T?!** "

      "That was from way before, I swear", Lance clarifies but Rolo pushes him aside.

     "Yeah, that’s right, 200 dollars, but if you wanna work off his money with me, we can work something out”, ugly-hat winks.

     Keith shakes his head in disbelief. _Oh no, he did not just say that._

     "That’s a, um, a really sweet offer, Rolo, but not now." Lance fixes his jacket and grabs Keith by the arm pushes him towards the stairs. "Come on, Keith. Let’s go."

     Once they’re down, Keith turns to the exit, but Lance, still firmly holding his arm, pulls him deeper into the Galra club.

     "Snacks! Can’t leave on an empty stomach! Besides," brown-haired boy starts while letting Keith off and making himself comfortable on a seat in front of the bar, "it’s _my_ apartment."

     "Yeah, well, I live there too, dumbass." Keith sits next to him.

     "Look, Mulletman, you came here, I gave you some money, I gave you a place to stay and some very valuable vocational advice."  Keith’s watching Lance grab handfuls of bright red cherries. He shoves some in his pockets, some land in his mouth.  "Rolo was in my case. I had to give him something. So don’t irritate me."

**_Don’t w ha t now_ **

     "Irritate you? Ir ri t a te you?! Lance, this is serious. I just saw a girl being pulled out of a Dumpster!"

     "I know. It was Coleen. But she was a flake. Total crackhead, Keithy. Sam was trying to straighten her out for _months_ ", Lance laughs to himself in a sad, empty tone.

     They hear shouting from the depths of the bar. "Get off of her!" "Leave me alone!" Somebody knocks over someone else’s drink. Punches are thrown. Glass shatters on the floor. The fight escalates.

     Keith clenches his fists and tries to focus, but all of a sudden, he can’t get rid of feeling trapped. Like a wild bird in a tiny cage or a fat cat stuck in a jar. Like there’s no hope. He’s stuck and there is no exit from who he is thus one cannot not be one’s self no matter how far one goes how many miles away from the past, it’s still in them. He wonders if there will be a day he no longer has to worry about saving up money for food or about coming home to see his friend’s body still from overdosing drugs.

      "Don’t you wanna get outta here?"  he asks a little out blue, doubting it all would change. It’s been years. He is the fat cat stuck in a jar, isn’t he?

     Lance stares at him in mistrust, a cherry stem hanging from his mouth.

     "Get out where? Where the fuck you wanna go?"

     _Yeah, Keith, where? Change the city? Move across the globe? Don’t you need money to do that?_

     "You know what. Nevermind. Forget it. Let’s go, we need money, don’t we?"

     "Guess we do…"

* * *

 

     Once they’re outside, at their usual spot, their eyes lay on a tall blonde smoking and leaning on a lampstand. Her long shiny hair is tied in two high ponytails. She has a short purple dress on and her wrists look heavy with all those fake-gold bracelets around them. She looks bored but smiles something teasingly in the direction of a road.

     "Hey yo, Nyma, babe? You see the stars on the sidewalk right here? " Lance shouts, coming closer to the girl.

     "Yeah", she replies nonchalantly, her eyes moving from cars to the boy.

     "Well, babe, Keith and I, we work this star, that other one block away, to the very last before the crossroad." Lance’s animatedly pointing to the sidewalk as he speaks, angry expression painting his face. "This is our turf. We got seniority. You better get off our corner", he threatens with a fake smile on.

     "Ah, forgive me. I was just takin’ a rest here." Nyma is raising her hands in the act of surrender when she sees Keith. Oogles him and instantly drops her action. "Besides, what seniority, _he_ ’s still new."

     "Yeeah, well, I'm old. Go rest up by your dumb blue neons--"

     "Turquoise", Keith whispers behind him.

     "Turquoise neons where you belong!"

     Nyma straightens up. The bracelets jingling as she throws the cigarette butt on a ground right beneath Lance’s trainers.

     "You know, you’re really becomin’ an old grouch, _babe_."

     Keith watches her walk away.

     "Am I really a grouch?" a sad voice cuts the tension.

     "Yes", Keith replies unhesitantly, but when he sees his friend’s face on the edge of crying he adds quickly: "Sometimes?"

     "Well, just cause I'm hungry!" The boy throws his arm in the air and before Keith can think of a response, they hear loud prolonged honking.

     "Heyyy~there~~"  A luminous cabriolet catches their attention. A girl leans out of the window.

     "Well, hello~~" Suddenly no-longer-hungry Lance replies with a charming smile.

     "How ‘bout a freebie? It’s my birthday!" The girls laugh, her friends high-five her.

     "Dream on, sweetie!" The boy waves at her with his middle finger in the air.

     _That’s my life._ He shifts on his legs. _I am here. Standing by the road. Trying to earn money. Not in the ideal way but on my own rules, right. I am free and I am–_

     "It’s looking really slow today, maybe we should get a pimp, you know…" Lance says distantly, picturing something terrible probably (he’s been doing that awfully often lately), then turns to Keith. "Rolo really digs you."

     It vexes him. He takes Lance by shoulders to ground him.

     "He’ll ruin our lives and take our money, Lance" Keith’s voice stubborn, trusting his intuition, he knows Rolo’s type, he knows damn good it’s better to stay away from guys who are only focused on drugs and sex.

     "Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. " The boy shakes his head before nodding.

     "We say who, we say when, we say how much."

     A gift from heavens, their prayers have been listened and considered;  Black Lion, a car both of them couldn’t even dream about but kept reading all those reviews about how powerful and expensive and so very out of the average human league the car was; parks right before the crossroad and their last star.

**_Ohh holy shit oh shit shit shit!!!_ **

     The boys exchange glances.

     "You should go for him!" Lance shrieks excited with money possibility. "You look hotter than hell tonight. Don’t take less than a hundred. Call me when you’re through. Take care of you~."

     "Take care of you. "

     They hug, it’s a good platonic gesture, securing one another that if something happens the other is here.

     Keith goes, fixing his walk to appear sexier, taking his red jacket off and knotting it around the hips.

     "Work it, babe, work it!" Lance cheers behind him

     _Breathe in._ _You can do it, Keith._ He did it many times, actually. He knows, damn well, he can. But there’s always this sheer feeling of anxiety, who could the other person possibly be: a murderer? A filthy kid? Gross old prick? A millionaire? Nobody knows before…. Keith bends down to the car’s window. _Breathe out._

     "Hey, sugar, you lookin’ for a date?"

     A stranger behind the steering wheel lifts his eyes. The first thing to catch Keith’s eye is a long scar across man’s nose. It doesn’t look ugly, but it sure is Something. The man is wearing a suit, a fancy looking one to be more exact: grey with details in metallic black. He has a black undercut, but his bangs look almost white and flop over his dark, calling attention with precisely winged eyeliner, eyes.  He furrows his thick eyebrows on Keith’s teasing smirk.

     "No, I'm not. I wanna find Arusian Hills. Can you give me directions, please?"

     "Sure" Keith holds his gaze "for five bucks."

     The stranger snorts.

     "Ridiculous!"

     "Price just went up to ten" The boy tilted his head.

     "You can’t charge me for directions."

     "I can do anything I want to, baby. I ain’t lost." Keith winks and straights up. Giving him some time to rethink his offer. And to admire his bare sides.

     "Alright", he hears and looks down to the window. "Okay. You won. I lose. Got change for a twenty?"

     Keith smiles to himself and pats his own mentality. _Suck it, Rolo._ He never liked that weird hat guy anyway.

     Keith opens the car door and takes a seat, not caring much about an expensive looking coat spread on the seat. He takes handed money, checking if they’re real.

     "For twenty I'll show you personal. Down the street. Make a right."

     The engine purrs like a kitten and they’re on the road.

     Keith settles in, appreciating the insides of Black Lion. It looks as fancy as he always imagined it would. Seats are black leather, it smells of novelty, Keith’s hand strokes smooth, shining dashboard.

     "This is a hot car!" he exclaims a little too ecstatic. "Is it yours?"

     The man seems to struggle with the transmission.

     "No, it’s not."

    "Stolen?" he grins.

     "Not exactly."

     The man harshly pulls the brake. They stop at a red light.

     "What’s your name?" he asks, eyes still on the road. Keith knows this act: shy, embarrassed, _ah, how cute_.

     "What do you want it to be?"

     The man finally looks at him with the expression that just spells "Are you for real?". Of course he is, _duh_. Keith rolls his eyes. Fancy man, fancy clothes, fancy "not exactly stolen" car… He could be a member of a mafia or some drug gang or..

     "Keith. My name is Keith" he risks. The light switches, he clears his throat. "So what hotel you stayin’ at?"

     "The, uhh, the Altea."

     "Then down the block, right at the corner."

     The car takes a smooth turn.

     "Man, this babe must corner like it’s on rails," says Keith to escape the silence.

     "Beg you pardon?"

     "Well doesn’t it blow your mind? This is only four cylinders!"

     The man looks at him in surprise. "You know a lot about cars. What did that come from?"

     "Blade of Marmora. Boys back home, I grew up with, used to bring cheap cars or parts and fix ‘em. I paid attention. I even build my own bike once, it didn’t last long tho" he laughs at the memory and looks over to his companion. "So how is it you know so little about cars?"

     "My first car was a limousine."

_Oh. **OH**. _

     "So where is this _home_?" The man questions as he obviously fights with the gearbox.

     "El Paso, Texas. You’re not shifting right." He points to the stick.  "It’s a standard H."

     "Standard H, of course,  like I know what that means."

     Keith chuckles and suddenly the man looks enlightened, his brown eyes big.

     "Have you ever driven a Lion?"

     "No," and then he understands "no oh no, no no."

     "You’re gonna start right now."

     The man looks determined, he stops the car on a next bus stop and gets out.

     "You’re joking," says Keith, the stranger holds him the door open.

     "No, I’m not. It’s the only way I can get you off my coat," he smiles.

     They switch. _Unbelievable_. Keith adjusts the mirror, fastens his seatbelt and feels soft leather of the steering wheel under his fingertips. _Unfuckingbelievable._

     "I am taking you for the ride of your life," he smiles playfully. "Are you ready?"

     He hears the ‘click’ and short "ready". Keith grips the wheel and pushes the gas pedal.

     "Here we go."

     And there he fucking goes that boy, colourful neons glow on his beaming yet focused face as he speeds down the Californian streets. There always was something about the speed that he loved, the power of it, the danger, the freedom…

     "Tell me, Keith," the man is folding his coat, "what kind of… what kind of money you make these days?"

_Embarrassed type™_

     "Can’t take less than a hundred."

     "Hundred dollars a night?" his voice surprised.

     "An hour," Keith corrects him.

     "You gotta be joking!"

     "I never joke about money," says Keith seriously.

     "Neither do I." He pauses for a second then repeats boy’s words with amusement: "Hundred dollars an hour. That’s pretty stiff."

     Keith smirks at that. His hand leaves the gear shift and wanders up man’s thigh.

     "No, but it’s got potential," he laughs having caught a glimpse of passenger’s face.

     Then he sees a sign that reads ‘ _The Altea Hotel’_ and slows down. He’s taken aback. Keith has heard about the luxury this place oozes but now seeing costy cars, few people in clothes graced with pure gold (or so he thinks it’s real; Nyma’s bracelets could never equate to these shiny pieces of rich-people-jewellery) talking before the glassed entrance and several levels high new building; Keith knows everything compared to this place will be like comparing shit to heaven.

     "Park there." His companion points to a vacant spot.

     Keith does as he’s told, paying attention not to scratch Black Lion. Once he’s done a robot in a hotel-boy uniform opens passenger’s door and helps the man get out, greeting him:

     "Good evening, Mr Shiragone."

_Mr Shirogane, huh._

     They exchange a quick chat and he soon disappears, leaving the man and the poor boy, who’s playing with his hands while admiring the lavish building, in awkward silence.

     "Sooo here we are," says Shirogane, locking his eyes with Keith.

     "Yeah… I’m—I'm gonna grab a cab with my twenty bucks." He smiles and waves a dollar bill in the air.

     "Well, thanks for the ride, Keith."

     "No problem, umm, see ya."

     "Goodbye."

     Keith turns, puts on a jacket, and takes a seat on a bench next to the bus stop nearby. _Twenty bucks and a ride in Black Lion to Arusian hills is still better than dealing with drug-crazy murderer_ , he thinks to himself despite being upset that his usually great instincts when it comes to reading types of people didn’t confirm. He could have bet Mr Shirogone will take him for the night. He seemed unsure, as if he wanted but something kept pulling him away from making such decision. _Maybe he’s just—_

     "No taxis?"  A familiar voice breaks Keith’s thought stream.

     "No. I like the bus."

     Mr Shirogane is standing behind the bench. He’s tall. Much taller than Keith thought. He’s holding his coat with his right hand and only then does the boy become aware it’s a robotlike prosthetic. How did he miss this?? How—he—and Keith always thought he had some great observant skills.

     "I was thinking… Did you really say a hundred dollars an hour?"

     Keith smirks. So his instincts are infallible after all.

     "Yeah, I did."

     The man reaches out to him with a smile.

     "Well, if you don’t have any prior engagements, I would be pleased if you accompanied me into the Altea."

     Keith takes the hand and stands up.

     "You got it, uh, what is your name?"

     "It’s Takashi, but everybody calls me Shiro."

     "Takashi? That’s my favourite name in the whole universe!"

     Shiro laughs heartily at it and stops right before the hotel. Keith looks at him in wonder, then feels the literal weight on his shoulders, the man covers him with his long coat.

     "This hotel isn’t the kind of establishment that rents room by the hour," he explains in a quiet voice.

     _Oh._ Keith wraps himself tightly and can’t help but sniff the material. He’d say it smells like those cheap perfumes that are sold on a street, but around 10000% better and actually nothing like those cheap perfumes that are sold on the street.

     They enter a spacious reception room, the boy sees a crystal chandelier hanging from a high ceiling, velvety sofas placed on thick carpets, bouquets of bouquets of flowers in expensive vases (each valued at least Keith’s year worth of rent and food expenses), piano can be heard being played in another room. Keith is dazed. Soft "holy shit" escapes his mouth while they’re walking towards the front desk.

     "You’re gonna be fine. Stop fidgeting."

     Easier said than done, it’s not like Shiro is a poor kid brought to a rich people hotel and judged by some serious looking eyes that aren’t even pretending to read a journal their owner holds in hands.

     There are only a few people in the hall, up to six no more, all boring, all sombre, all staring at him. Keith never felt so out of place and he had been in various situations during his life. He hates this feeling.

     "Follow me." Shiro instructs apparently having received no news from a smiley lady behind the desk.

     They walk throughout the corridor to the elevators. They’re standing next to an old couple, waiting for the lift. Keith feels their eyes on him. Faces distorted in utter abhorrence. Keith’s had enough. He’s never out of place. 

     And so he does the thing that would only be appropriate during the first minutes of a porno film and definitely nowhere near grumpy old people.  Keith raises his leg and puts it high on the wall, exposing his inner thigh. He looks up to Shiro with puppy eyes.

     "Oh, honey!" he exclaims theatrically, "I’ve got a runner in my pantyhose."

     He strokes the leg above the boot and looks the couple straight into their mortified eyes.

     "Ha, silly me, I’m not wearing pantyhose," he laughs.

     The lift opens. The robotic hotel-boy inside.

     "Colour me happy! A sofa for two!" Keith jogs in. The lift is bigger than any he’s ever been in. There are a  sofa and a crystal-like turquoise lamp above it.  The boy can see Shiro’s apologetic smile directed at the grampgrams before the door closes.

     "Sorry, I couldn’t help myself."

     "Try." Shiro shoves his hands into the pockets. _Money, Keith, think about the money_.

     "Penthouse," announces the robot, Rover (as read on its nameplate), when the elevator stops.

     "Penthouse?! "

     The door opens to a short corridor with a big white door at the end of it. Shiro is searching his pockets before pulling out a card and placing it close to the scanner. Working with the proshetic seems trouble him. Keith wonders how long he has it. The scars on his face and neck aren’t all that faded, he wouldn’t give them more than a year. _What happened? Was he in a car accident? A fight?_ Keith’s eyes open wider. _Maybe he **is** a gangster afterall? _

     "Oh, I miss the keys," the man hums, the door hangs open. Too late to run if he is a bad guy.

     They enter the room and Keith may have skipped a breath. The reception hall was luxurious but this? This is the real paradise. 

     A small hall with big mirrors in golden frames opens to a salon. Violet walls, three sofas, various pillows stacked up on them, two armchairs, a whooping flat screen, glass coffee table, dark wooden desk by the wall crammed with papers to the point some of them were spread on the floor.

     "Impressed? Go look around."

     "You kidding me? I come here all the time?"

     But he accepts Shiro’s offer and wanders around. Checks a cleaned up kitchen, dining room with glass table, six chairs and lavender roses in a vase; toilet that looks out of a royal family’s palace; bathroom with the biggest jacuzzi bath (two people could easily fit into it, Keith smirked to himself) his eyes have ever laid on. And finally he comes across to the bedroom. It sure is a BED room. Dark pink walls give the room an atmosphere of warm privacy, soft lights from beneath the bed and beige candles on nightstands only add up to it...

     Keith turns away.

     He finds himself opening the door to the balcony.

     "Wow! Great view!" he says loud enough for Shiro to hear. "I bet you can see all the way to the ocean from out here?"

     He looks down, city lights and fast cars on the roads below him.

     "I’ll take your word for it."

     Keith pulls himself up and goes back inside to the salon. Shiro is sitting behind the desk and sorting the papers.

     "Why? Don’t you go out there?"

     "I’m afraid of heights," he looks up at Keith.

     "Are you?" Keith asks surprised. "How come you rented the penthouse? "

     "I looked all around for penthouses on the first floor, but I can’t find a single one. It’s the best it gets" the man shrugs and goes back to the papers.

     Keith takes Shiro’s coat off and place sit carefully on the sofa. He casts a brief look at his reflection and fixes the wig.

     "Well, now that you have me here, what are going to do with me?"

     "I don’t have a clue."

     "No?"

     "I hadn’t exactly planned it."

     "Well, do you plan everything?"

     Keith takes off his own jacket and sits down on the armchair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

     "Always," the man answers, putting his papers down.

     "Yeah, me too." He says and pauses. "I’m actually… No, i’m not a planner. I would say I’m, um, a kinda _‘fly by the seat on my pants’_ guy, you know? Moment to moment. Carpe diem. That’s me. That’s.. yeah. Mm-hmm. You know, you could pay me. That’s one way to maybe break the ice," he suggests to escape the awkwardness.

     "Oh, yeah, right, I’m sorry."

     He takes out his wallet.

     "I assume cash is acceptable?"

     "Cash works for me, yeah."

     Keith gets up and comes to the desk. Grabs the money and takes a seat on the desk, while Shiro is putting the wallet back in the pocket.

     "You’re on my fax." He points to Keith’s butt.

     "Well, that’s one I haven’t been on before." He lifts his butt without getting off the desk.

     "Cute. Very cute," says Shiro in a sarcastic tone.

     "Alright. Here we go."

     Keith takes out condoms from his boot and shows them like a deck of cards.

     "Pick one.  I got red. I got green. I got yellow. I’m outta blue, but I do have one gold circle coin left."

     Shiro looks between the condoms and Keith.

     "The condom of champions. The one and only. Nothing is gettin’ though this sucker."

     Shiro shakes his head.

     "What do you say? Hmm?"

     "A buffet of safety."

     "Well, it’s better to be on the safe side," Keith smiles.

     Shiro laughs and shakes his head. He stands up from his comfy chair.

     "Alright! Let’s get one of these on you," the boy pulls him closer by his belt loops.

     "Hey hey no. I.. " Shiro grabs Keith’s hands. "Why don’t we just talk for a little bit, okay?"  The man pulls away and smiles softly.

     "Talk. Yeah. Uhm, sure."

     Keith stuffs condoms in his pocket and watches Shiro take off his jacket and roll shirt’s sleeves up. Keith bites on his bottom lip. Talk. Sure. No problem. He can…. Talk. Yes. Mhmm. And that’s like totally not suspicious at all. Nope.

     "Soo~~, Shiro, are you in town for, um, business or pleasure?"

     "Buisness, I think." The man puts the jacket on a chair.

     "You think, hmm."

     Shiro moves to sit on a sofa. Keith follows him, sitting down closely so that their bodies touch.

     "Well, let me guess. That would make you… a lawyer?"

     "A lawyer? What makes you think I’m a lawyer?"

     "You’ve got that sharp but tired look about you," he teases.

     "Bet you know a lot of lawyers."

     Keith’s hand wanders to Shiro’s knee.

     "I know a lot of everybody."

**DIIIIIIIIINGG DOOOOONGGG.**

Sudden loud ring to the door makes them both shoot to their feet and tear apart from each other. Keith looks at the man eyes wide, but he only shrugs: „Champagne.”

     "Oh", he looks at the closed door, then at Shiro, "might as well make myself useful."

     He could feel Shiro’s eyes on him as he walks, hips swinging, towards the door.  It’s the same robot, Rover, or maybe all the robots here were called Rover? Anyhow, it’s holding a metal plate of strawberries, a bottle and two champagne glasses.

     "Good evening. Where would you like it?" it asks in a robotic voice.

     "Where would we like it?" Keith directs the question at Shiro.

      "Uh, over by the bar," he says somehow nonchalantly.

     Keith follows the robot to the bar, watches it put the things down.

     "It will be on your bill, mr Shirogone," it announces and leaves. They’re left alone again.

     Shiro is cleaning out the glasses while Keith sits down on a chair by the bar.

     "You mind if I take my boots off?" he asks as if he wouldn’t do it anyway.

     "Not at all."

     "Sooo, do you have a spouse? A partner or...?"

     "My ex-wife is now in my ex-home with my ex-dog." Keith is watching him pour the sparkling champagne into the glass. "My former boyfriend is in New York, moving out of my apartment even as we speak."

_He’s heartbroken_ , Keith thinks. _That must be why he’s so shy and reserved about this whole situation, he’s sad and heartbroken and needs support or—_

     Shiro hands the boy the glass and slides the plate to him.

     "Try a strawberry."

     "Why?" Keith asks raising an eyebrow.

     "It brings out the flavour in the champagne," explains Shiro like it’s something obvious, _duh, strawberries bring out the flavour in the champagne_.

     "Oh, groovy." Keith takes one. It’s sweet and fresh.

     Shiro sits next to him on the stool. He doesn’t have a drink. The other glass is untouched.

     "Don’t you drink?"

     "No."

     Keith swallows hard on his drink and regrets it. Why is he the only one drinking? Maybe it’s poisoned, he’s being drugged, then he’ll fall unconscious and....

     "Listen, I, I appreciate this whole seduction scene you got going, Mr, but let me give you a tip: I’m a sure thing. Not gonna run away or anything. Okay? So, I’m on an hourly rate. Could we just move it along?" It sounds harsher than Keith intended.

     Shiro gets up, visibly upset.

     "Somehow I’m sensing that this time problem is a major issue with you. Why don’t we just get through that right now?"

     "Great. Let’s get started." Keith stands up.

     "How much for the entire night?"

      _What. The what? What? Umm. **What?!**_

     "Stay here?" asks Keith, utterly shocked, staring at Shiro with big eyes. "Oh, you couldn’t afford it."

     "Try me."

     _Great move, Keith, tell the rich guy he doesn’t have enough money for your poor ass_. He chews on his bottom lip.

     "Four hundred dollars." (200$ for Lance’s idiot debt; 200$ for him)

     "Done."

     _W H A T  THE  Q U I Z N A C K. FUCK. Did he hear right? Done? Ok? He???_

     "Thank you, now we can relax." Shiro smiles and fills Keith’s glass to the brim.

     **_F O U R (4) HUNDRED DOLLARS._**

     Keith smirks to himself, sipping champagne. _Now, that’s a good deal._

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to thesaurus.com, Grammarly and Garry Marshall.  
> comment and give kudos if you liked it, bookmark and subscribe.  
> next chapter Keith is drunk


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